“Those are Ganhoff’s dragoons,—I know them,” said Volodyovski; “but some carriages are in the middle!”
At that moment the drums began to rattle.
“Oh, it is evident that some one greater than the bishop of Jmud is there!” cried Zagloba.
“Wait, they are here already.”
“There are two carriages in the middle.”
“True. In the first sits Pan Korf, the voevoda of Venden.”
“Of course!” cried Pan Yan; “that is an acquaintance from Zbaraj.”
The voevoda recognized them, and first Volodyovski, whom he had evidently seen oftener; in passing he leaned from the carriage and cried,—
“I greet you, gentlemen, old comrades! See, I bring guests!”
In the second carriage, with the arms of Prince Yanush, drawn by four white horses, sat two gentlemen of lordly mien, dressed in foreign fashion, in broad-brimmed hats, from under which the blond curls of wigs flowed to their shoulders over wide lace collars. One was very portly, wore a pointed light-blond beard, and mustaches bushy and turned up at the ends; the other was younger, dressed wholly in black. He had a less knightly form, but perhaps a higher office, for a gold chain glittered on his neck, with some order at the end. Apparently both were foreigners, for they looked with curiosity at the castle, the people, and the dresses.